


No Plan

by Every_Sourwolfs_Dream



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoption, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Baby Isaac, Baby Isaac Lahey, Car Accidents, Character Death, Dad Stiles, Future Fic, Gen, Graphics, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Printing Presses, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Stiles, Teen Wolf AU, art firm, baby lydia martin, derek the intern, future jobs, printing firm, sterek, stiles is a print manager, tw, warning: car accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Every_Sourwolfs_Dream/pseuds/Every_Sourwolfs_Dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anyone told Stiles that at the age of 24 he'd be sitting in his truck outside ballet class waiting to pick up his whining 1st grader, he would have plainly laughed at the sincerity on their face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm glad I put up a fight

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new series!  
> (Teen wolf future/no supernatural! AU)  
> Apologies for the angst and possible triggers in this chapter, trust me, it gets better after this!  
> Enjoy!

If anyone told Stiles that at the age of 24 he'd be sitting in his truck outside ballet class waiting to pick up his whining 1st grader, he would have plainly laughed in their sincere face.  
But, here he was. Contemplating as he drummed his slim fingers against the steering wheel. Sitting in his steel blue truck anticipating a strawberry blonde ball of intelligent energy to come prancing out of the school at any moment.  
"Ssh--"  
Stiles bit down a swear word as Lydia's French-manicured hand reached up and smacked a palm on the window Stiles had his head resting on.  
Still, Stiles let an endearing smile slip as he climbed out of the drivers seat to greet a patiently waiting Lydia. Automatically scooping up her 'I ♡ dance bag' on one shoulder, Stiles opened the passenger door of the truck and buckled her in safely before returning to the wheel.  
"Sooo? How was practice? "  
Lydia predictably squirmed away, swatting, as Stiles ruffled her perfectly curled hair.  
"It was great Dad!" Lydia exclaimed, yanking down on Stiles' arm as he reversed out of his parking space.  
"Woah, careful there sport, are you trying to yank arm out of its socket?"  
He recieved a mumbled apology as he looked down to see her returning the gaze sheepishly.  
Strangely enough, it was times like these he was glad he'd disagreed so defiantly with his father.  
He remembered the day of the accident like no other.

He'd gone for a close range college in the end. Honestly, he didn't think his dad could deal with it after losing Claudia, even though he'd insist he was fine-and-dandy. And Scott, true to form, kept the pact they'd made in middle school to go to the same college. It's not like Scott could move away anyway. He and Allison lived with Melisa now, no matter how much he still loved and supported Allison, Chris could never cope with the fact that his 19 yearold daughter had a baby with a boy even younger than her. Melisa being Melisa, somehow felt responsible for the tiny little red head that now consumed their time. Apparently the hair and the adventurousness both ran in the Argents side of the family. Now, two years later, another arrival had just appeared in the tiny form of isaac.

A twenty-year-old Stiles had just come in, whistling to 'That girl', from a psychology lecture to find his father nuturing a whisky bottle.  
Stiles put his keys down on the side and swooped in, his plaid shirt waving out behind him like a cape.  
"No, no, no," he let out, sliding onto the sofa beside the bottle and taking it from his father's hands.  
"Woah there, wrangler, I'm well aware you've had a bad time at work, but you and me both know you haven't done this in a while..."  
Thankfully only a little of the liquid in the bottle was replaced with air.  
His father refused to meet his gaze. He never did that, even when he was drunk.  
Something was wrong.  
Majorly wrong.  
"Stiles, listen..."  
Shit.  
"It's Allison and Scott,"  
Shit.  
"They were in a car accident--"  
Stiles didn't want to here it,  
"Hey, hey Dad! I know that's not good, but seriously don't you think you're over reacting a little bit here, with what..." he gestured to the bottle that had somehow worked its way into his hand. "Stiles," his father almost scolded, "listen to me, they were on the county highway and--"  
"Jesus Dad! Like I said people recover from this shit--"  
His father dug the heels of his palms into his eyes,  
"Stiles! Would you just slow dow--"  
Stiles stood up again, this wasn't happening. He couldn't be hearing this. He started babbling.  
"You know what!? I'll go see them right now, grab some 'get well soon' crap at the station and--"  
"They're dead stiles!" The Sheriff almost yells.  
Stiles felt like he'd been punched in the face.  
"Shit." His father mumbled, "Shit, I didn't mean for it to come out like that, shit. Stiles?"  
He finally looked at his son. His beautiful boy.  
He wasn't moving.  
John didn't even think he was breathing.  
"Stiles?"  
He looked at his son.  
His son looked at the bottle.  
Before John could even lunge forwards half the bottle was down Stiles' throat, burning his eyes.  
"Stop Stiles!"  
Then the liquid was gone.  
And Stiles was on the floor.

"Daddy?"  
Crap. Stiles jerked at the tender touch to his arm. He realised a giggling Lydia was pointing at the green traffic light, and the angry honks and shouts of other drivers filtered into his peripheral sound.

He was glad he made a stand. Otherwise this little angelic face would not be smiling sympathetically at him. He wouldn't be on the way back from reading Q mag outside of ballet class.  
In fact, he probably wouldn't be here at all.


	2. Unexpected, as always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This surprisingly took a lot of research :)  
> This is why I didn't post my 30 day drabble on tumblr yesterday- apologies.  
> Enjoy!

 Stiles and his father had been yelling for over an hour. Quite the record, considering any other time they barely did so for more than five minutes without one of them giving up and storming out of the room.  
Prolonged anger was never a Stilinski family trait.  
But this… this time was different.  
"You can’t take on two kids Stiles! You track wash days- let alone adopt!”  
Stiles had had enough.  
The Sheriff had repeatedly pulled the ‘you’re still a kid’ card.  
He wasn’t going to yell any more.  
The taut voice that surfaced was somehow deep and practised, and much more exhausted than he expected. “Dad. I am an adult. I’m Lydia and Isaac’s next of kin after their parents, and there’s nothing you can do to stop the adoption. Melisa’s there for me. I’m doing this- whether you support me or not.” Stiles surprised himself with his own finality, granted, he felt bad for using Melisa as a weak spot on his Dad.  
Of course his Dad was right though- Stiles couldn’t even find the keys to his truck during every morning’s frantic episode. But he had to do it.  
There was no possibility of Melisa affording childcare without losing the house. Chris certainly “wouldn’t even consider” after losing his only daughter- John had literally hand-cuffed Stiles  to stop him from causing serious infliction to an already damaged man.  
If Stiles didn’t take them, his best friend’s children would be shipped halfway across the states before the month was out.  
Stiles was brought out of his epiphany by a hurtful denigration.  
“Would Scott do the same for you?”  
That was too unscrupulous for a cop, or a father.  
Stiles said nothing.  
Stiles knew the answer.  
Of course Scott wouldn’t.  
Stiles’ theoretical kids would in Timbuktu in a heartbeat. Stiles didn’t need the sheriff to point out Scott’s shitty friendship-unaware flaws.“Real classy. Use your son’s dead friend as an excuse. Well, guess what? Things aren’t the other way round, no matter how much we want them to be!” He felt the heat rush out at the end of his confession.  
He watched his father recoil in shock.“Stiles…”  
“What? Dad.” He threw so much sneer into the statement it was almost comical. "Do you want me to give in? Give up? Say you were right all along, all the while Lydia and Isaac get carted off to the best credit-scoring couple?"  
"Stiles that's not how it--"  
"Do I look like I give a shit?" Stiles crushed his keys into the palm of his hand  and was slamming out of the house.  
He couldn't make out his dad's assertion.  
"Already gone!" He screamed loud enough for the whole of Beacon hills to hear.  
********  
Looking back on it, that was the worst time of his life.  When his mom died he'd had Scott. This time round he'd had nobody.   
Stiles sighed, shaking his head, returning to Isaac's room with a jaw cracking yawn.  
Perfect timing.  
The adorable four year old was just waking up as Stiles snuggled him up into his arms. He was greeted with a muffled "Da..." followed by a huge returning yawn for such a tiny creature.   
With the alternately snoozing four yearold resting softly on one hip, he strolled through the door of Isaac's room and into the warm-pale-blue lounge of their flat.   
Dumping the little bundle of sleep on the leather couch he called around the corner to Lydia, "pop tarrrrrtttssss!!" A reply pleaded. Stiles sighed at the usual morning request, "Lid, you know full well it's healthy only on a week day!" Stiles rolled his eyes at the disappointed wail he received in return as he made his way down the hall to his own room.  
He sighed heavily, running his hand over the back of his head. Reaching slowly, brain still locked in sleep mode, into the linen closet he pulled out a pair of boxers for Isaac that he forgot to get out, and Lydia's endlessly specific Thursday socks. 

45 minutes later, Stiles was tapping the steering wheel of his jeep along to Isaac's vocalising of Hakuna Matata. "Dad? Aren't you going to be late again?" Lydia chirped up, concerned from the backseat. Stiles look at his dash.  
Shit.  
Nonetheless, he smiled at Lydia whilst they sat in traffic, "Never mind, as long as I get you out of my car on time, you're making it smell!"  A chorus of outraged 'heys!' Made Stiles chuckle.  
"I never said you smelt bad."Lydia and isaac simultaneously stuck out their tongues.  
****  
Considering he majored in psychology and criminology,  Stiles never expected to be checking in late everyday to a printing and art delivery firm in Southern New York. But Stiles has come to except the fact that a lot of things have happened he didn't expect.  
 He was just turning from the check when--"Stilinski." To be honest Erica didn't even try sound annoyed,"You need to start showing up for work on time."  
Stiles looked at the art nevou clock ticking soundlessly on the wall. Only 20 minutes late.  
After waving his arms and pulling a probably unprofessional gawp, Stiles decided i was best not to argue with his boss. He hung his head, "I'll ask if the preschool will take Isaac in earlier. "  
Erica pulled a face, "Oh Stiles," she suspired, "If you weren't my favourite production manager... 15 minutes late. Maximum."  
Stiles gave her the biggest shit eating grin he could muster. Erica turned, leaving the foyer.  
"Oh, by the way, you've got a new graphics intern waiting downstairs for you to check out some collaborative cover designs."  
Stiles gave a cheerio salute.  
After a sigh of relief, Stiles headed his own way down the modern deco corridor of of the foyer, and through a white archway decorated with little black birds.


	3. "Baby"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets the new graphics intern.
> 
> "Jawline and, oh dear lord, glasses."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidental cute Stiles/Liam bonding! It just... happened.

On his way past admin, the ever lovely Liam (fresh out of highschool) handed him today's list.  
Stiles may or may not have made an agreement with the kid, that if he comprised a folder of Stiles' current projects and orders, Stiles would buy him a Latté every other morning, and breakfast pastries on a Thursday.

It took Stiles' still-mentally-teenaged brain to catch up as to why Liam was looking at him expectantly.

Today is Thursday.

Shit.

"Idiot." It took all of Stiles' will power not pass out with shock as someone smashed him over the head with the biggest hardback on "The Art Form of Brain Scans" he had ever seen.

Stiles noted that Liam's mouth was gormlessly hanging by his shoes as well, as Malia from damages pushed a small bakery box into Liam's frozen hands.

"You owe me for not letting the baby starve." Her face expressionless, ignoring Liam's indignant 'Hey!', as she pointed at Stiles.  
Damn, Stiles thought, if she wasn't the most terrifying human Stiles had ever come across, he would so have crushed on her the minute he saw her. She was so hot.

Malia frowned at Stiles' lack of response and stalked away.

"What?" Liam finally spoke, wide eyed at the pastries. "I swear she only talks to the Coyotes?"

That was the name the rest of the company had given to the feisty trio down in damages.

"Yeah..." Stiles couldn't think why Malia would bail Stiles out, let alone how she knew about his and Liam's pact.

"Maybe she has the hots for you, baby." He winked, punching Liam on the arm as he left.

"Hey!" Liam called to him over the office desks, going red, "Does everyone call me that!?"  
Poor kid sounded horrified, "You're a manager! You can stop workplace bullying!"

Stiles snorted as he made his way down the metallic staircase to Production.  
******

Whistling to 'Something's gotta give', Stiles backed through the silvery steel door, little bits of light filtering through embeded shards of coloured glass onto his forearm.

Walking in he chucked today's paper's down on his desk, turning with his hands on hips to take in the massive pile of new mock ups.  
Stiles waltzed over to the long table and began to flick through the beautiful galaxy edits- damn it he was too indecisive for this job.

Stiles pulled out the fourth one down, blue based, for a better look, when a sharp cough brought him back into the bright white room with beech panneled flooring and down from where he'd floated into space.

"Fuck!"

Stiles swore, whirling round, equally at dropping the print, and the sheer sight of the man before him.

Stiles' initial thought was: Fuck. There's a demigod in my office.

Then: ... graphics intern...?

Followed by: Jawline and, oh dear lord, glasses.

 

The stalker-like intern coughed, clearly irritated.  
But as Stiles gave him a glare that said "shhh, give me time to appreciate," the intern's hands suddenly clutched at the pile of collaboratives in his hands, the growl completely slid of his (rustically sculpted, in Stiles' opinion) face.

Shit. Of course Stiles, the meaning of your expression has been misconstrued, just as everything else that you do.  
You just bloody glared down the new intern within five seconds straight after swearing at him.

"Dude," Stiles laughed (the inside of his brain suddenly rendered even more socially inept than usual),  
"Don't crush the first collabs you ever bring to your manager."

The interns cheeks instantaneously flushed, like a cute little anime character, Stiles thought.  
(Stiles strategically picked up the fallen print and held it in front of his crotch.)  
Not for the first time that day his brain remarked on his still-teenage-like state.

Stiles rolled his eyes, "I'm not gonna eat you," he inwardly cursed his choice of words as the flush crept up the interns neck, "just put the things down, man."

Stiles rubbed both hands over his face. Self control. He's just an intern.  
Just waiting to be looked after! Stiles' brain squeaked after him.

"Stiles, production manager."  
Stiles stuck out his hand.

Just as suddenly, the intern was instantly back to cool and collected. Almost as terrifying as Malia, almost.

"Derek. Graphics intern."

Swoon.  
Stiles paused for a millisecond before taking Derek Stilinsk- FUCK. Derek's, Derek's hand.

"Right then."  
For the love of werewolves, be professional.  
He gestured at the designs, "what are these then?"

Stiles already knew, but he wanted to hear Derek's voice again (shush, he's not twelve).

Derek frowned, concentrating? Stiles didn't know, but Fuck it was intimidating, he'd like to be dared like tha- STOP. BRAIN, STOP.

"These are the collaborative designs sent in from a local illustrator, his works have been selected for a gallery, but the chosen pieces are from a book he's recently done the cover for. He and the author thought it would be good to include some of the book text. I was working on different fonts and arrangements upstairs..."  
Derek tapped on the pile he'd brought with him.

Stiles crossed his arms, nodded, pleased. Although, something about this guy told him he was seriously over-qualified, and over talented, to be an intern. Still. It was a hard job climate Stiles supposed.

 

Within half an hour, Stiles was outrageously disappointed that Derek had steadfastly ignored Stiles' jokes, and shamefully, slight innuendos.

As Derek the intern gave a curt nod and headed upstairs, Stiles sighed, slumping heavy-heartedly onto his desk.  
He was glad he was on his own today, Boyd was out on some kind of field trip with Matt from Photography and Kira had called in sick. It meant that Stiles could wallow as dramatically as he wished, cursing his absolute lack of love life, or any human interest in him at all.

He just needed to get out of the house more, Kira would tell him, go out, see the world on his doorstep.  
But it's not like he could just leave Isaac and Lydia. Of course Kira, or his dad, or even Mellisa (if she could get a night off from the hospital) wouldn't mind babysitting once in a while. Yet Stiles couldn't bring himself to do it.  
Admittedly, Stiles was scared. He was scared something would happen to him. He'd go out, and he wouldn't come back, leaving Lydia and Isaac all alone. All. Over. Again.

Stiles could never do that, would never do that. Fuck his social life, it's not like he had much of one in high school anyway. Scott was his social life.  
And at Uni.

So yeah, he sucked at reaching out and making friends, but that's why his dream of being a criminal psychologist hadn't worked out. His dad was right, that "environment" wasn't for Stiles. He couldn't cope with the constant hours, the stress of the work load and raising two kids, not to mention the time he'd almost been shot in the head by a fucking crazy-man who was convinced he was hunting supernatural creatures.

The gun had dug into Stiles' forehead, the man's wheezing breath laughing at him. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 --  
Liam slammed open the door to production.  
Stiles swore and jumped angrily to his feet.  
"The door! The fucking door man!"

Liam looked sheepishly at his feet, clutching a hefty looking cardboard box. He glanced up at Stiles.  
"...What's up Stiles? I mean, boss?"

Stiles looked at Liam's tilting baby face.  
"I--" he didn't want to weigh the kid down with his problems.  
He waved it away, grinning.  
"Nothing, I'm just getting way too indecisive, that's all."

Liam bit his lip. "Well, I can't really help with that, but! I brought you some delivery shit to sign!"

Stiles wandered over to the desk Liam had plonked the box on, "alright then, baby, let's get started." and ruffled Liam's hair  
"If you weren't my boss, I'd punch you." Liam muttered under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> N.B. I feel really bad for villain-ising Chris a little bit, I actually really love him as a character, it's just how the AU went!
> 
> :)  
> 


End file.
